I wandered long through restless night,
With questions clenched and lanterns dim—
Each path a whisper, veiled from sight,
Each step a hymn I could not hymn.
The world would speak in riddled tones,
Through wind in trees, through thunder’s cry,
But meaning slipped through marrowed bones,
Like clouds that smear the starlit sky.
I chased the sun, I chased the self,
In pages worn and silence deep,
In crumbling towers built of wealth,
And dreams that danced just out of sleep.
Then stillness came—not loud, but near,
Not with a blaze, but with a breath—
It burned no creed, it bowed no fear,
It woke what slept, it hushed what death.
No light from heaven split the air,
No voice proclaimed a sacred name,
But in the space between despair,
A flicker rose—a steady flame.
Enlightenment is not a crown,
Nor summit high, nor secret scroll—
It’s when the walls of self fall down,
And life walks freely through the soul.
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